precious parchment of the Greek was half so precious in his eyes. Never trembling scholar longed to unroll the mystic vellum, than Pierre longed to unroll the sacred secrets of that snow-white, ruffled thing. But his hands touched not any object in that chamber, except the one he had gone thither for.
'Here is the blue portfolio, Lucy. See, the key hangs to its silver lock;—were you not fearful I would open it?—'twas tempting, I must confess.'
'Open it!' said Lucy—'why, yes, Pierre, yes; what secret thing keep I from thee? Read me through and through. I am entirely thine. See!' and tossing open the portfolio, all manner of rosy things came floating from it, and a most delicate perfume of some invisible essence.
'Ah! thou holy angel, Lucy!'
'Why, Pierre, thou art transfigured; thou now lookest as one who—why, Pierre?'
'As one who had just peeped in at paradise, Lucy; and——'
'Again wandering in thy mind, Pierre; no more—Come, you must leave me, now. I am quite rested again. Quick, call my aunt, and leave me. Stay, this evening we are to look over the book of plates from the city, you know. Be early;—go now, Pierre.'
'Well, good-bye, till evening, thou height of all delight.'
VII
As Pierre drove through the silent village, beneath the vertical shadows of the noon-day trees, the sweet chamber scene abandoned him, and the mystical face recurred to him, and kept with him. At last, arrived at home, he found his mother absent; so passing straight through the wide middle hall of the mansion, he descended the piazza on the other side, and wandered away in reveries down to the river bank.
